


Steamed Up

by RageKiss



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Gen, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 05:00:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11200965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RageKiss/pseuds/RageKiss
Summary: This was originally intended to be the start of a Rooster Teeth Steampunk AU that I posted on Tumblr four years ago, but it never really got a response, so the fanfic just exists as this small snippet now.





	Steamed Up

Through the crowds that flocked to Drury Lane as the afternoon drew into early evening, Mr. Gavin Free stumbled, his unruly hair whipping into his eyes under the brim of his cap. His footfalls seemed loud, even though the din of the arriving tavern and theatre patrons ready for a night’s frivolity, as he navigated through the side-streets where the Strand bled into the outskirts of London City proper.

After a passing prison wagon on its way towards Fleet Street splashed water from an overflowing gutter halfway up his trousers, Gavin paused to catch his breath momentarily, chiding himself.  _Ramsey’s going to skin me alive. I cannot believe I forgot… again_.

By the time Gavin reached Farringdon, the hagglers and the costermongers had largely vacated the market already, leaving the street relatively quiet. His destination was a discreet little shop near Farringdon Market, lodged between a butcher and a tanner. The combination of the odors of raw meat and boiled leather never failed to make Gavin feel sick to his stomach, but most things did, given his weak constitution.

Knocking on the shop’s door, Gavin waited, growing more nervous with each passing minute. Relief came when a delicate hand brushed aside the curtain obscuring the shop’s interior and a pair of blue eyes met Gavin’s through the thick pane of glass.

“Barbs, I’m in a bit of rush,” Gavin pleaded as he noted the young woman’s cheeky grin as she took her time unlocking the door.

Barbara stood aside as she let Gavin into the shop. She laughed softly as she took in the young man’s disheveled appearance. “I was wondering when you’d get here.”

Gavin self-consciously ran his hands over his coat when he sensed Barbara giving him a once-over. He followed her through the shop, passed shelves of useless and unmarked bits and bobs– a jar of thimbles, a box overflowing with mismatched rope, a bolt of hideous calico twill, and other random assortments. The only things that could be purchased from this peculiar little shop were not to be found on display.

Following Barbara down a narrow, unlit staircase, Gavin winced as he bumped his head against on a haphazardly-placed beam. He always managed to do it, which only served to make Barbara sigh and remind him to be more careful. Reaching into her reticule that hung heavy against her hip, Barbara produced a slender key to unlock the door at the bottom of the stairs.

Gavin marveled at how Barbara, with her innocent face and flaxen hair, could make unlatching a door seem like the mysterious art of a worldly demimondaine. He blamed it on her winsome smirk and her American airs.

_Canadian_ , Gavin corrected himself, _but I’m not sure what difference it makes. With her bluntness, she is just like Ramsey_.

The parlor, for lack of a better word, that lay beyond the door struck Gavin with an unsettling warmth. Precarious stacks of crates lined one side of the room while several mismatched tables and chairs dotted the other. Barbara crossed the room and gave three stomps on the floor with the heel of her shoe before pulling up a carefully hidden trapdoor.

“It’s a regular labyrinth down here, isn’t it?” Gavin mused. “Locked doors and booby-hatches– how do you keep up with it all?”  

Barbara winked. “A lady never reveals her secrets.”

A few moments later, a young man climbed up through the trapdoor with a crate hoisted up on his shoulder. Gavin had seen several lads come and go from Barbara’s employ; they were usually young and newly arrived from the States. However, the youthful appearance of this one gave Gavin some pause and concern.

“Good Lord, Barbara, where did you get this one? Did you go down to St. Andrew’s, or did you just rob a creche?” Gavin questioned, watching as the auburn-haired youth placed the crate on the floor near his employer’s feet.

Barbara only laughed, but it was obvious that the young man in question was not amused.

“Fuck off,” he spat, sweeping a dirty hand through his shaggy curls.

“This is Mr. Jones,” Barbara began to introduce her employee in hopes of assuaging his temper but was interrupted.

“Michael,” the young man interjected gruffly. “No need for niceties.”

Barbara acquiesced, attempting to put a friendly hand on Michael’s shoulder but gave up when she did not find a clean patch on his shirt. “Michael, this is Mr. Free, and he is my best customer.”

Gavin appeared surprised. “Really?”

“No, but I’m trying to be nice, so don’t spoil it,” Barbara teased. She continued, turning to Michael, “If you would be so kind as to help Mr. Free deliver this parcel, I would be very grateful.”

“I’m sure I can manage on my own,” Gavin replied, stooping down to pick up the crate. He quickly realized that he could not lift it even an inch from the floor. “On second thought,” he said sheepishly, “maybe I could use a bit of help.”


End file.
